Still Your Turn
by Osidiano
Summary: After the end of the Hokuto tournament, it's pretty obvious that there's something wrong with Hikaru. Akira stops by to see him and reassure his friend and rival that it's okay if he's just Hikaru.
1. Still Your Turn

**Disclaimer/Note:** I do not own Hikaru No Go or any of the characters used in this story. They belong to the series creator, and no money is being made from this story. It is written solely for enjoyment and no copyright infringement was intended. Do no sue. All original concepts in this story are original (_duh_), and belong to me. Do not steal, or archive without permission. I have kept many of the Japanese terms for the game, plays, and other Go miscellaneous, mostly because I read scanslations and don't know how to translate this jargon myself. Apologies in advance; if you know how the official translation of the manga does it, I would be much obliged. In any case, this story is _AC_ (_A_lternate _C_ontinuity), takes place during the last match of the Hokuto Tournament in chapter 190(-something) of the HikaGo manga, contains lots of spoilers, and is not beta'd. Also, if you haven't finished the manga, this probably won't make any sense to you. Enjoy.

**Still Your Turn  
**

_ If I continue this line of attack, I'll lose the upper hand. . ._ Shindou Hikaru closed his eyes and took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly through his nose. He needed to calm down, needed to stop panicking and let his mind control his hand. The bitter, sinking feeling of defeat was beginning to brew low in his gut, as if preparing him for some uncontrollable downfall. They had just reached the middle of the game, chuban, and the battlefield had been laid out before him. Behind his closed lids, he recreated the Go board, placed each stone carefully and began to debate his next hand. Ko Yongha was not someone to be taken lightly, not someone that he could win if he let his emotions get the better of him.

At the moment, they were nearly even, and Hikaru's advantage was getting slimmer with each turn; Yongha's previous tsugi and nozoki had effectively negated his earlier attachment and attack near the upper left star. The shape of the stones was starting to become more complicated, the uncertainty of his plays beginning to show. He _had_ to stay in the lead for territory, but. . .

_But I can't beat him like this_.

The thought came as a surprise even to himself. Hikaru's hand tightened around the fan, balling into a fist on top of his thigh. No! He could not allow himself to think like that; it was still too early in the game! Right now, he needed to concentrate on winning. Losing to Korea's best like this was not an option.

_I must make for the center_, he told himself, opening his eyes and placing the stone on the board with a harsh _clack_ against the quality wood of the goban. _If White connects here. . .No! These are the whites that I must cut apart!_

His opponent placed a hand over his mouth thoughtfully, carefully considering his next move. Hikaru held his breath. He was using two nozoki, had caught Yongha off-guard with the unexpected play. His opponent's brows were furrowed, eyes scanning the board for plays. Hikaru could guess what he was thinking. He was probably thinking that if he attacked Black's two groups, then White's own group would end in an unfavorable play. With this one move, he was turning the tables on the Korean representative.

Yongha placed a stone, attacking by linking his own formation up between Hikaru's groups.

The click of stones on the board was following the way that he had imagined it. It was difficult, confusing at times, but definitely strong Go. There was a pause as Hikaru realized that he needed to retreat, but that it would not be easy. He could not retrieve his stones in the lower right corner without also ending in an unfavorable play, but neither could he invade. White was too strong, Yongha's wall too thick.

A few more stones were placed, and Hikaru was beginning to lose territory. He bit his lip, keeping his hands low so that his opponent would not see them tremble.

He was not going to win against the Korean representative in this, the Hokuto Cup, even after all of his big mouthed speeches.

The board in his mind shifted, Go stones falling into the void of thought without sound and disappearing into the darkness.

_Is it my fate to lose here. . .?_

That's right. Yongha was the better, more experienced player. His opponent wanted to win in order to carry Korea into first place. Hikaru's expression twisted into a mask of anger and passionate hatred for the man across the goban from him, his hands gripping the fan so hard it almost snapped in half. Hikaru slammed a stone down on the board, his eyes trained on the young Korean professional's face.

Yongha may have been the better player, but Hikaru could not allow himself to lose here. This was not a game to showcase his skill or to prove his own worth and power. If this had been a game for himself, he would have resigned by now. But this was a game to prove that Torajiro was a brilliant man, to show this arrogant bastard that there was no one in the world who was more powerful than Shuusaku.

This battle was for Sai, and no matter what happened, he _refused_ to let himself lose.

Yongha was watching Hikaru curiously while wiping the sweat from him own palms before calmly placing another stone. The Korean's somber plays were met by fervor and desperation, were responded to so quickly they both had to wonder if Hikaru knew what he was doing anymore. Akira and Yashiro stood to the side of the board, watching silently with the cameras now that their own tournament matches were completed. The only sound came from the board and timer.

_What would Sai do here_? Hikaru asked himself, no longer trying to hide his emotions. He let his emotions run wild and finally stopped playing with his head, letting his heart and emotions guide his hand. This kind of playing was instinctual; his brain was two moves behind the game, noticing after the fact which hand had been borrowed from Sai's games against Touya Kouya, and which ones were simply from his own practice matches with the ghost.

Finally, the last stone was placed, and they began to count territory.

"_Half moku_?" he heard someone whisper from behind him, and Hikaru drew a cautious, shaky breath. Yongha was staring at the board in disbelief. Was that half moku in his favor? Hikaru kept counting.

"Shindou," Yongha began, turning wide eyes on the other First Board. He continued in Korean, and when Hikaru stared at him numbly, not understanding, Hon Suyon translated for him.

"Shindou, before the game, weren't you trying to explain the reason you play Go? He said he wants to know what Shuusaku is to you."

"I. . ." his tongue felt heavy and his lips would not move to form the words. He did not know how to express himself with words. In his mind, the answer was clear. Shuusaku was Sai. Sai was the most important person in the world to him. He could not stand hearing Yongha disrespect Sai's genius, Sai's undeniable talent. But he could not say that. Hikaru could not talk about Sai, because no one would ever understand.

"He says that he wants to know why you play Go."

"Why do I play. . .?" he repeated the words in shock, as if comprehension was far above his current capacity. He kept his gaze focused on the board and finished counting.

The half moku was in his favor.

He had _won_. His strong feelings for Sai, his passion and respect for the ghost, had been shown through the power of his Go. He had defeated Yongha with ancient technique, with Joseki style plays and hands that had not been seen in a hundred years outside of Shuusaku's game records. But no matter how much of Sai could be seen in Hikaru's Go, the ghost was not there. He had played an amazing game, but there was no Sai to whisper congratulations from behind or exclaim how fast he was progressing.

The feeling of loss only grew heavier.

"I play because I'm an idiot," the words fell from his lips unhindered, rolled off his tongue with surprising ease. Everyone stared at him, confused. Hikaru let his head droop further, trying to hide behind his blond bangs as he struggled to contain his true feelings. He should have been too old, too mature to start crying here, where surely one of the cameras would pick up his tears. The team's manager, Kurata Atsushi, placed a hand awkwardly on his shoulder. But it was not comforting. Only Sai would have been able to comfort him; only Sai's smile would have been able to hold back the dismay and sorrow that welled up within him by finally being able to speak. Somehow, the loss hurt more than when no one was listening, burned his throat as the words continued to force their way out of him, far too bitter and angry for his tender teenage years. "You could _never_ understand him! Someone like _you_, who laughs off his brilliance with arrogance! If I hadn't—if it wasn't. . ."

He cut himself off with a small strangled sound, and the two teams surrounding the table jumped, worry painting their faces. Akira said his name cautiously; Yashiro just took a step back, eying him warily; the three Koreans began to talk amongst themselves. Yongha's head jerked to the side as he demanded something of Suyon, who quickly began translating into Korean. Their Third Board member crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to be complaining about something. Hikaru squeezed his eyes shut and he clutched at his fan as though it were a life line; held it close to his heart as though it had truly been the one that Sai carried and not just a cheap imitation. But, _Goddamn it_, he would not cry here!

"Shindou, we don't—"

"_If I had been strong like Torajiro, he never would have had to leave!"_ Hikaru stood abruptly, his chair falling backwards onto the floor. Kurata withdrew his hand, and the Go world watched in shock as the young professional pointed an accusing finger at Korea's best and brightest, practically screaming across the goban. "I will _never_ forgive you for what you've said about Shuusaku! You are no match for even his shadow, Yongha!"

-

Hikaru had not gone to the awards ceremony after the game. Kurata and the tournament sponsor's representative had both scolded him for his childish behavior and dismissed him to his hotel room. He had not left. Hikaru sat in front of the goban in his room with both the black and white stones on his side, only a few hands into the game. Black was on 5-15, the upper left star, and 6-3. White had been placed at 7-15 and 6-8.

It was the only game he cared about finishing anymore. This was the last game that he wanted to play. The fan was still in his hands, held so tight it made his palms ache.

"It's your turn," he said quietly to the vacant space on the other side of the board, watching the stones dispassionately. Hikaru felt tired, burned out after the game with Yongha. No one could understand his feelings for Shuusaku. They could not know why he was so relentless; he could never tell them about Sai.

He closed his eyes, and let his shoulders fall forward. Hikaru was alone now, and that thought brought back all of the heavy emptiness that he had been feeling at the end of the game. This time, he did not hold it back, and began to shake with the force of silent sobs. Tears streamed down his face, and he clenched his teeth to keep from screaming.

"Sai. . ." he whispered to the ghost who was not there, begging him to return. "_Please_. . .it's still your turn. . ."


	2. New Game, Same Move

**Disclaimer/Note:** I do not own Hikaru No Go or any of the characters used in this story. They belong to the series creator, and no money is being made from this story. It is written solely for enjoyment and no copyright infringement was intended. Do no sue. All original concepts in this story are original (_duh_), and belong to me. Do not steal, or archive without permission. I have kept many of the Japanese terms for the game, plays, and other Go miscellaneous, mostly because I read scanslations and don't know how to translate this jargon myself. Apologies in advance; if you know how the official translation of the manga does it, I would be much obliged. In any case, this story is _AC_ (_A_lternate _C_ontinuity), takes place during the last match of the Hokuto Tournament in chapter 190(-something) of the HikaGo manga, contains lots of spoilers, and is not beta'd. Also, if you haven't finished the manga, this probably won't make any sense to you. Originally, it was meant to be a one-shot, but due to popular demand, I've added another chapter. Please enjoy.

**Still Your Turn**

****He was cold and wet.

Touya Akira shivered where he stood just outside his teammate's hotel room, his hand poised above the surface of the door as he contemplated knocking. He should knock; he knew that, because that was the only way that the boy on the other side would know that he was there. Then again, there was still the option of turning around now and going back to his own room for the night. But that would mean that he had gone out into the pouring rain and gotten soaked and muddy for no good reason, and he really did not want to take the food he had picked up back with him.

. . .Yes. Excellent excuse.

Akira let out a sigh, knocked, and waited.

A moment later, and the door was being opened slowly, a confused and blotchy face peering out from around its edge. It was not quite what Akira was expecting. Hikaru rubbed at his face absently with his free hand, sniffling slightly and smearing something clear and wet across his cheeks. Tears, no doubt. Hikaru's nose was red and a little runny, his eyes watery and red-rimmed from crying. Akira opened his mouth to say something, but the words fled from him. He did not know what to say in this kind of circumstance. Thankfully, Hikaru broke the awkward silence.

"What are you doing here, Touya?" he said it with a light cough and small laugh, a bewildered but genuine smile taking up residence on his mouth. Akira held up the plastic bag with cheap take-out like an offering, used it to buy himself some more time to figure out what to say or do. He was not used to having to comfort people, especially after they had just won. Hikaru let the door fall open and ushered the other boy inside, taking the bag off of Akira's hands so the boy could remove his shoes and jacket. "I mean, isn't it a little late for dinner?"

Akira slipped out of his muddy dress shoes, careful not to get the carpet too dirty. He hung up his jacket and stood with his back to his rival, looking around the room as he sought for the right thing to say. Were they close enough friends for him to voice his concerns and worries about the boy? Would it have seemed strange if he said that he noticed that something was wrong with the win over Yongha? His eyes caught on the game of Go set up on the floor near the window.

". . .Do you want to play a game, Shindou?" he finally returned the question with one of his own, looking back over his shoulder with the fears that he could not allow himself to give voice to. Hikaru's smile faltered for a moment but held fast, and although his shook his head no, he agreed anyway.

_I play because I'm an idiot_. . .

"Yeah, sure, just. . .let me clear the boa—"

"No, it's fine like this. Let's just play." There was another pause, both gazes searching the other for signs of what was wrong. Hikaru's smile was gone, his jaw tight with tension. Akira watched as the boy's shoulders lifted and then fell quickly in what was probably meant to be an offhand shrug. It came across much too stiffly for anything like that, and Akira had to wonder if he had done something wrong. "I'll play white."

A sharp inhalation and Hikaru jerked slightly to one side, as though he had been hit. What did it matter if he played white? Would it have been better if he had said black? What was Hikaru so worried about? His rival nodded, busying himself with the food in the bag, searching through to find something to eat. His words sounded strained when he managed a response. "Y-yeah, fine. White's good. It's, uhm. . .it's your turn, then."

Akira picked up the bowl of stones and sat down on his side, fingering a piece absently before placing it near the lower left star. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, needed to hear that answers to. . . He clenched his fists on top of his thighs, glaring down at the stones. Akira was really no good at comforting people.

"So, how was the ceremony?" Hikaru was making small-talk as he took his place on the other side of the board, a carton of stir-fry and a pair of chopsticks in one hand. He placed a stone at the 3-3 star without even so much as glancing at Akira's move.

"It was fine," Akira responded tersely, setting another stone at 3-4. They were practically ignoring the four stones from the game before. He steadied his gaze on his rival's face. "They split the prize money between all of us, and each team was received an award for first place; since it was a tie, I guess they didn't see the need for plaques or trophies. Atsushi-san gave another speech—"

"What did Yongha have to say?" the words were muffled around his chopsticks when Hikaru interrupted, their eyes meeting with intensity. Akira was the first to look away. He had figured that Hikaru would only care about what Korea's best and brightest had to say; the young man had promised, after all, to retract his derisive statements if he lost.

"He formally apologized to Japan for his comments against Shuusaku."

"Serves him right. . ."

"Will you tell me about him?" Another black stone clacked down onto the goban, followed soon after by Akira's next move. They played in thoughtful silence for a few hands, attention focused on the board. He asked again, slower, more softly, his question almost lost in the quiet of the room. ". . .Will you tell me about Shuusaku?"

_You could never understand him_. . .

"What's there to know? The guy had great calligraphy."

"Don't be like that, Shindou," Akira crossed his arms over his chest loosely, watching as his rival's expression dissolved into a sorrowful affection, wondering why the tone of his voice had become so fond and familiar. Hikaru spoke informally, like he was talking about a close confidante or beloved mentor, and not some long dead legend. He tried again. "Why does he mean so much to you? Why did you compare yourself to him? Who is _he_?"

The _he_ in question was not necessarily Shuusaku; Akira was certain that Hikaru had picked up on when the antecedent for that pronoun had changed, much like it had in his rival's earlier outburst. _He_ was the elusive somebody that had had to leave, the man mentioned when the boy had lamented about how he was not strong like Torajiro. _He_ was the reason that Hikaru still played Go.

Hikaru placed a stone and waited, but said nothing.

_If I had been strong like Torajiro—_

"Shindou. . .is _he_—?"

"Y'know, no matter how hard I fight, how loudly I talk, _he's_ never coming back. _He's_ moved on," Hikaru started out slowly, his voice thick and tight with emotion. Moved on. . . was the man in question, the dear friend, dead? The use of that particular past tense seemed to imply that it had happened some time ago. Akira could see the unshed tears in his eyes, could see the tremble in the hand that placed the next stone, but Hikaru kept that sad smile. "It's probably okay that I'm not Torajiro. This is probably what God had in mind when I met _him_. I'll. . .I'll be okay, Touya. I mean that, really. I'm not going to let this keep me down, like last time. I know that I gotta keep working to achieve the Hand of God. I've gotta do my best."

"That doesn't answer anything, Shindou. You're not making any sense."

Hikaru laughed, a rueful, not-quite happy sound as he rubbed at his nose. "Maybe one day I'll tell you. When I tell you about our first game, and the way I used to play. I'll tell you then. I'll tell you all about me and Shuusaku. I'll tell you why I wished I was more like Torajiro."

_He never would have had to leave. . ._

"If that's how you want it to be. . ." Akira stood then, walking away from the goban back towards the door. He did not bother with his jacket, threw it over his arm half-heartedly and picked his muddy shoes up off the floor. With one hand resting lightly on the knob, he cast a serious gaze over his shoulder back at the other boy. Hikaru gestured vaguely to their unfinished game, brows knit with worry.

"Hey, it's still your turn. . ." he began, but trailed off into silence as Akira opened the door to let himself out.

"We still have plenty of time and opportunities left to grow, Shindou. Don't lose yourself in whatever it is that you're looking for. You're my rival, not Torajiro, and I wouldn't want it any other way."

_His shadow. . .the shadow of Shuusaku. . ._

"You have no idea. . ." he heard the soft, bitter murmur of the other's voice as the door fell shut behind him. Akira stared at the wood thoughtfully, wondering if he had misheard for a moment, before he headed back to his own room.


End file.
